


Dance With Me

by rufousnmacska



Category: An Ember in the Ashes - Sabaa Tahir
Genre: A Reaper at the Gates, A Torch against the Night, A sky beyond the storm, An Ember in the Ashes, F/M, Spoilers, crack ship???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufousnmacska/pseuds/rufousnmacska
Summary: A SKY BEYOND THE STORM SPOILERS!A short story from Helene’s pov set after A Sky Beyond the Storm.FYI- this is not a fix-it fic, it’s just my standard “I need some resolution on this open-ended thing” fic.
Relationships: Helene Aquila/Musa
Comments: 16
Kudos: 28





	Dance With Me

“I must say, Empress.”

Musa surprises me from behind and I flinch at his nearness. As he sits next to me, I curse the flush spreading across my face.

“I expected armor.”

I glance at him, keeping the movement swift so he can’t see my blush. But skies, I get enough of a look to see the wolfish grin on his face. Despite the chilly desert air, I feel suddenly hot, like my skin is too tight.

Or maybe it’s this bleeding dress I let Laia talk me into wearing. I have no curves for it to hug, but the purple silk clings and feels unforgiving in how much it shows. If it _were_ armor, I’d be impressed by its close fit. But it only leaves me feeling exposed.

“It’s a wedding, Musa,” I offer as explanation.

“Indeed Empress.” I hear the grin.

It has been months since we shared a few dances at the Moon Festival. In that time, we’ve continued to dance around one another. We spend more time together - in meetings, at meals, traveling the empire for more meetings - than we do apart. That I’ve come to depend on him so much surprises me.

And scares me. The fear is familiar though, something I battle every day since losing Harper.

Having Avitas flit through my head at this moment leaves a sharp pain in my chest. His memory has interrupted my focus on Musa and I feel sick from my betrayal. I know it’s silly. I know he wanted me to live, to be happy. And yet, this feels like a line I’m not sure I can cross.

I scan the others gathered for Laia and Elias’s wedding. Everyone is smiling, seemingly able to push aside their memories from the war for this one day of joy. I had thought I could do that as well. Thought I had been doing it. But out of nowhere, I am reminded of my loss and grief, and my happiness for my friends threatens to come crashing down.

I feel Musa’s warmth as he leans close to me.

“Empress?”

His voice is low and quiet. I turn to face him and instantly regret it.

The expression Musa wears, one of concern and ... something else, isn’t enough to distract me from his eyes. Golden. Scholar eyes, like Laia’s. But a deeper gold than hers, with flecks of brown and black. I realize my mouth is hanging open and I try to speak, but nothing comes out. When I glance at his lips, his mouth curves up on one side and I move back to his eyes. His smile hasn’t reached them and they still watch me warily. Stupidly, I realize then that this may be hard for him too. He was actually married, unlike me.

 _Bleeding hells. Quit drowning in your own misery and be a friend_.

“I’m fine,” I say to his unasked question. “How are you?”

Musa shrugs and shifts away, staring at the guests. “Honestly?”

“Always.” I take the opportunity to examine him and see I’m not the only one who dressed for the occasion. His tunic is snug across his broad shoulders, its color perfectly matches his eyes. 

With a sigh, he leans towards me again. “I selfishly find myself hoping for a short ceremony.”

I search his voice and face for a joke but there is none. Without thinking, I reach out and take his hand. He turns, no doubt finding the same pain he feels on my face. Squeezing my hand tightly, Musa just nods.

The ceremony is beautiful, overflowing with the love Laia and Elias feel for each other. It is also blessedly brief. Musa and I spend it with hands clasped, commiserating in a silent, complicated stew of happiness for our friends and grief for ourselves. We only let go to clap at the end, when the newly married couple kisses. I feel myself smiling widely and I turn to Musa. He is watching me, his own face bright and full of cheer. 

During the celebration of endless food and loud music, I keep to the edges of the crowd. The dress makes me feel seen in a way I’m not used to, and I’m not comfortable with all the eyes on me. Skies, I’m the Empress and here I am withering from the attentions of a handful of men and women.

“Waiting for your favorite dance partner?”

“Bleeding hells Musa! Stop sneaking up on me.” I’ve reached for a scim that isn’t there and it takes a moment for my heart to ease. The sight of him makes it speed up again.

He knows it. Somehow, even without his wights, he knows exactly what he does to me.

“I’m hurt you don’t keep tabs on my every movement.” He places a hand on his heart as if truly offended. But his eyes glow with wicked delight.

I look down my nose at him, but can’t keep the smile from my face. “As Empress, I have many more important things to concern myself with than your whereabouts.”

“Mmm hmm.” He takes my hand gently and begins to lead me into the dancing crowd. “Will you join me, Empress?”

“Is this your favor then?” It’s a question that has become a daily ritual. I ask, he says no. 

Musa laughs, and the richness of it fills me with excitement. He laughs often, but rarely with this much truth in it. There is no sarcasm or darkness underneath it this time. I’m suddenly thinking of ways to make it happen again.

“No, Empress. Trust me.” His eyes pierce me as if they are daggers, and I’m left a little breathless. “You will know when I call in my favor.”

The edge missing from his laugh is in his gaze, in his words, turning his answer into a vow. He speaks my title as if it’s some sort of challenge, his brow raised cockily. I have the sudden desire to hear him say my name. After I became the Shrike, Harper was the only person aside from Livia who called me by my name. Another stab of betrayal hits me and I stop letting Musa drag me any further. There’s something about him that has me talking before I can give into the fear. 

“Avitas used my real name,” I whisper, feeling suddenly unsteady. But Musa still holds my hand, a grounding force for which I am overwhelmingly grateful. “I’d like you to as well.”

I search his face for disgust at my treachery, or mockery perhaps, anything negative. But knowing him as I do, there will be none of those emotions. I wonder what the reflection would show if I looked into a mirror at this moment.

Musa’s smile is soft and gentle and it makes my heart skip. “I would be honored.” He waits a moment, checking that I am certain. Then he bows his head slightly. “Helene.”

His voice is raspy and thick with emotion and the sound is like a spark within me. As his eyes take me in, from head to toe and back again, that wolfish quality from earlier returns. I find that unlike the others, I don’t mind having his gaze on me, and I flush with an annoying pleasure that he approves.

Stepping close to speak into my ear, Musa says, “You are more lethal in that dress than in your armor.”

“Are you implying I might get my way more if I wear dresses?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact. At least, where I am concerned.” He rolls his eyes. “I won’t speak for all the blustering old fools on the council. Dance with me.”

He pulls me against him and into the music. We don’t speak for some time, lost in the rhythm and the feel of each other. When I rest my cheek on his shoulder, he speaks softly into my ear. “I am very happy to be here dancing with you, Helene.”

My name from Musa’s lips does not sound odd, and unlike moments ago, I feel no sadness. Or fear. Instead it feels right. In this new world, this ... after, he alone understands me, the grief and the joy, the conflict and struggle. He listens and pushes and consoles. He makes me laugh, watches me rage, eases my pain. He does not judge me or insist I forget Harper. 

And as his hand tightens at my waist, I wonder, not for the first time, how it would feel to wake up next to him. What things we might do to tire each other out.

“Helene.” Musa says my name again, just, I think, to try it on his tongue. 

There is no space between us but I hear the music has picked up speed. People around us are twirling to the faster beat and we ignore them.

I look up into his eyes. “I’m happy to be dancing with you, Musa.”

Under a sky brilliant and punctured with stars, swaying too slowly to the oud and drums that carry across the desert, amidst the sound of joyous laughter, Musa leans down and kisses me. It is soft and gentle like his smile, but holds a wicked edge, like his vow.

Against my lips, he murmurs something in Sadhese. I don’t recognize the words and ask him what it means. But instead of explaining, he grins, brushing his hand up and down my back. His touch on my bare skin is hot but featherlight, and it leaves me gasping.

“Come, my Empress. I will show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> As a Helene-Avitas shipper, I was not particularly happy with how things turned out in this book. Then Helene’s last chapter came out and smacked me in the face and I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities. I loved her friendship with Musa and despite my heartbreak over Harper, I think she and Musa have a strong connection.


End file.
